


The Hardest Lessons

by Regann



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regann/pseuds/Regann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a sorceress decides to teach Merlin a lesson, he learns about more than just magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hardest Lessons

****  
_The hardest lessons to grasp are the ones you've already learned._

Given Camelot's harsh laws against magic, the number of sorcerers who trip through the gate continues to astound Merlin, even as he ignores what his residence there says about him, destiny notwithstanding.

This week, the sorceress is part of the retinue of one of Uther's allies, the widowed sister of the lord's new wife. Her name is Lunette, and Merlin notices something strange about her during the feast the king holds to welcome his guests to Camelot. She seems to notice him as well, sending look after knowing look that he can't help but meet as her gaze sizzles across his skin like a physical touch. He wavers a little when he pours Arthur's wine, and the prince gives him a look that affects him in a completely different way. Merlin mumbles an apology and steps back, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Still, he can feel her eyes following him for the rest of the night, an uncomfortable awareness he'd rather be without.

It doesn't surprise him the next morning that the lady manages to catch him alone, and not-so-subtly ushers him into her chambers. He feigns ignorance, but she pays his protests no mind.

"I realize that you do not know many of your kind, Merlin, but there is much some of us can tell about others with just our eyes," she says.

"I don't know what you mean," he tells her, still grasping at the denial that comes as second nature.

"I know that you are magic," she says, and Merlin can't stop his wince. "I know you have already once held the power of life and death in your hands. It's all there, in your colors." She raises a hand to motion at the outline of his form. "And I know that for all your power, you are untrained and unstudied, a mere babe when it comes to understanding the magic you possess."

"I, uh..."

She smiles at his incoherence. "That last is the problem. You shouldn't fly before you can barely walk. It's dangerous, both for you and the others around you."

He frowns. "I don't understand."

She lays a hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps you should crawl for a bit."

Merlin isn't expecting her lips against his, a quick, soft press that makes him feel like icy water has been dumped over his head. He pulls away rather forcefully, but she lets him go without a fuss, a strange light in her dark eyes as she watches him scramble out of her chambers.

Merlin spends the rest of the day trying to shake off the memory of that wretched feeling brought on by Lunette's kiss. He almost manages by the time he's heading back to his rooms, until he tries to his powers to save himself from taking a nasty stumble down a narrow column of stairs. When he attempts to gather the magic, all he feels is ice in his veins as he goes down painfully.

When he recovers from the spill, it's not just his bloodied nose that leaves him shaking.

Gaius tends to his smashed nose while Merlin tells him about Lunette, the kiss, and his subsequent inability to use magic. Gaius has him try a few simple spells in the safety of their rooms, but it's more of the same, no effect save for the unnatural chill. Gaius tries to hide his worry, and he promises to look for an answer.

Merlin prefers a more direct approach, and bides his time as he helps Arthur prepare for the night's banquet. His disquiet is obvious to the prince in the way he is silent and efficient at his duties, but Arthur says nothing, just shoots him concerned glances between prattish remarks. Right before they reach the hall, Arthur offers to let Merlin skip the feast, though it sounds less like kindness and more like _Since you're acting even weirder than usual, I don't want to spend my evening dealing with you_. Merlin declines and takes his place behind Arthur's seat, his eyes on Lunette all evening.

Once the hall begins to empty after the meal, he seizes his chance, whispering furiously once he's sure no one can overhear them in the quiet corridor.

"What did you do to me?" he demands. "I can't --"

"I told you, you need to crawl for a bit," she explains. Her face is soft, her voice softer. "It's not to hurt you. It's to _teach_ you."

"How..." he begins, then changes his mind. "What? What must I do?"

"Let yourself learn something," she tells him, like it's that easy. He scowls, she smiles, and the conversation is over.

It's near midnight before he has a chance to relate the conversation to Gaius who, surprisingly, seems to be on Lunette's side.

"Maybe you can learn something," he tells his protégé, who gapes at him in betrayal.

"Gaius, she stole my magic," Merlin reminds him.

"And I will continue to look for a way to reverse that," the old physician tells him. "But that doesn't change the fact she's right. You've no proper training and what I can offer you is precious little. I was never a great sorcerer, even before the Purge. In the old days, someone with your abilities would've been able to study with someone great, who could help you meet your potential. Perhaps she is offering you something you need."

Merlin refuses to entertain any notion that his loss may be beneficial in any way. His dreams are filled with worries, most of them vague almost-memories of ways Arthur could die horribly if Merlin remains stripped of his power. He wakes before dawn, his face wet and his heart pounding after having relived the Questing Beast ordeal over again in his mind. But in this nightmare version, there had been no magic to slow the beast in the cave, no chance to save Arthur from its deadly bite because it had torn Arthur apart while Merlin watched helplessly from on high.

If Gaius heard any of his disquiet during the night, he doesn't remark on it, for which Merlin is grateful. Instead, the physician sends him out into the forest around Camelot to gather the herbs he's low on. Merlin has always found this task soothing, grateful for the chance to get away from the castle and its secrets for a while, so he sets off as soon as he's escaped Arthur. The first item on his list is violets, a mainstay in many of Gaius's potions for headache, dizziness and sleeplessness.

Merlin knows exactly where to look, a small little glade not far into the forest that he passed the week before. When he gets there, he's disappointed, though, because the flowers are all gone, either trampled or plucked away. He kneels in the grass and touches one flattened violet he finds where dozens once grew. As his fingers touch the soft, wilting petals, he wishes this violet and the others still grew in the charming little patch he saw those days ago; he feels a jolt, a tingle in his fingers, and the violet under them flares back into life. Merlin gasps and straightens in time to see a swirl of violets spring into life around him until whorls of purple surround his booted feet. His hand looks to be surrounded by a pale green glow that shimmers once, twice, thrice before it fades away.

He hears a voice that echoes in his head and resembles Lunette's. _This magic is green, for abundance and growth. It is the magic of the forests and the wild._

As Merlin returns to his knees to collect the violets, he thinks he's just learned something.

**

As soon as he can, Merlin tells Gaius what happened in the forest with the violets. On his way back, he tested his magic but it was still beyond his reach, a cold numbness beyond any physical frostbite. Gaius nods along to his tale as his hands are busy sorting the ingredients Merlin dropped on his table.

"It is a lesson, then, after all," Gaius says when Merlin finishes speaking. "There are different schools of thinking, even in magic, and it seems as if Lunette wants to pass hers onto you."

"She wants me to crawl," Merlin repeats. "Learn the basics, right?"

Gaius agrees. "It's not bad advice. Especially for someone with your gifts."

Theoretically, Merlin concurs; he's always wanted someone to teach him about his magic, things beyond the scope of an ancient physician living under constant fear of exposure by a execution-happy tyrant. In practice, the experience leaves something to be desired. "Any idea how many of these lessons I'll have to endure?" Merlin sighs.

"I couldn't begin to guess," he says, adding at Merlin's look of surprise, "I don't know everything and I've only just heard of 'green magic.' It seems Lunette's school is a bit different than what was once studied in Camelot."

Although it doesn't completely ease his discomfort, Merlin decides not to dwell, especially since he doesn't have time. The prince left him with a list of tasks to complete before nightfall, with no hint of magic to aid him. Arthur is waiting when he reaches the prince's chambers -- he's in a foul mood, sweaty and frowning from his time on the field with his knights. Merlin hurries to help him out of his armor, ignoring Arthur's mutters about his incompetence.

"I swear," Arthur continues as he shrugs out of another layer. "If it wasn't for my benevolent nature, I'd keep you in the stocks, Merlin. You're horrible _at everything_."

Merlin rolls his eyes behind prince's back as he lifts away the chainmail at last. Down to his thin tunic, Arthur smells like fresh air and sweat, a scent as grounding to Merlin after these months as the quiet of the forest was. Like the litany of complaints, it washes over him and warms the places inside where he's frozen without control of his magic.

Free of the metal, Arthur rolls his shoulders and winces.

"You're hurt?" Merlin asks, frowning at the expanse of Arthur's back.

"No," he scoffs. "Of course not, I'm just a little sore. I was _training_."

"Of course." Merlin hides his smile. "Sire," he adds when Arthur actually glances back at him over his shoulder.

The false innocence on Merlin's face seems to amuse Arthur because his face softens a little. "Make sure my coat is ready for tonight," he reminds him before he heads out to wherever he might need to be next. "And for once, don't screw it up!"

Merlin ignores Arthur completely and focuses on his duties: he cleans up around the rooms, lays out Arthur's coat for the feast, sits down to get a head start on all the armor that needs to be polishing, and tries not to think about his magic. He's lived with it forever, the hum of the magic in his blood, that its loss is like the loss of a limb or a bleeding vein; the quick re-acquaintance with it in the forest has done little to ease the ache.

By the time Arthur returns to his rooms to dress for the feast, Merlin has run all over the castle, half-hoping to see Lunette. He hasn't, though, so he's thoroughly prepared for his role of manservant when Arthur arrives. It's funny how much the prince doesn't trust him when he does what he's supposed to without comment or fuss; Merlin files the information away for use another time.

Arthur must sense his mirth, however, because the feathered monstrosity of a hat makes an appearance just in time to accompany Merlin down to the feast.

Merlin is standing at attention, performing wine-pouring duties, when Lunette sidles close to him, the din of the hall enough to cover her murmured words.

"You've taken my lessons to heart," she says. Like before, she touches the air above his arm. "I see the green here."

"I really don't have much of a choice," he reminds her.

"You are a very stubborn young man."

"What do you see?" he can't help but ask. "And how?"

"It's your spirit," she explains. "With our kind, it's like a halo. I see the colors that makes it up."

"And you know what it all means?"

"I recognize some of it," Lunette admits. "But other parts are a mystery, even to me." She waves a hand toward him. "There's a golden glow to it I don't understand. I've never seen it before."

"Maybe it's my...?"

She shakes her head. "It's something I've not seen ever. I'd know if it were that."

Merlin is still mulling over her words when Gwen comes to his side. She's frowning, her lovely dark eyes shadowed as she glances first at Merlin, then down at the folded parchment in her hand.

"What's wrong?" he asks immediately.

She shakes the parchment clutched between her fingers. "Lady Ismeine passed this to me. For _Arthur_. She tried to give me coin, but I refused it." She snorts, eyes wide with disbelief. "She thought I was agreeing to do it for _free_."

Merlin can't quite fight off the eye roll he feels coming over him as he and Gwen shift around until he's the one with the note and she's the one holding the wine. She nods yes to his unanswered question, and he slips out of the hall.

Lady Ismeine is the wife of one of the visiting knights and, from all indications, a shameless flirt. Her interest in Arthur was apparent since she arrived, always a little too attentive in his company. Merlin understands the attraction; Athur is the ideal of courtly lovers everywhere, handsome, brave, honorable. What Merlin doesn't understand is how anyone who knows those things about him could think he'd be interested in such an assignation.

If Merlin wasn't aware of Arthur's wonderful traits before Ismeine's letter, he is after skimming just the first few lines. He stifles a groan, feeling heartily with Gwen's discomfort. There's nothing worse for a servant than to be caught in the middle of exactly this situation.

"Don't worry, I'll take it from here," he tells Gwen when he's back at her side. The letter is hidden away on his person, and he's already decided to burn it as soon as he's alone. Given the tense mood Arthur is already in thanks to their guests, Merlin doesn't want to add fuel to the fire with Ismeine's steamy love note.

"What if she asks me about it?" Gwen wants to know.

Merlin sighs, already envisioning the day in the stocks this will cost him. "Tell her you gave it to me. It'll be fine."

Gwen is smiling at him and squeezing his arm gratefully with her free hand when Arthur suddenly appears out of the crowd. His stoic looks slides into a frown when he sees Gwen's hand. "Merlin," he barks, and Gwen jumps. Merlin winces where her nails catch his skin.

"Sire?"

"I'm retiring," he announces. "Attend me." Arthur nods briefly to Gwen before he turns away.

Gwen shoots Merlin a sympathetic as he follows.

Whatever had Arthur frowning keeps him silent once they reach his chamber, so Merlin quickly goes about his chores, lighting the fire, turning down the bed, readying Arthur's night clothes. The prince just sits, staring into the fire, wholly unlike himself. Merlin is tempted to question him, but he knows that these visitations tend to make him behave strangely. Merlin presumes it has something to do with the added pressure of pleasing both his father and their guests, while wondering if this is the time his father will auction him off in marriage to the highest bidder.

Merlin sometimes feels very sorry for Arthur, not that he would ever admit it aloud.

Things start to go awry as Merlin bends to help Arthur remove his boots; the letter tumbles from his shirt, the paper landing on Arthur's bent knee.

"What's this?"

"Nothing," says Merlin, too quickly, and Arthur's eyes light up with curiosity.

"Oh, really? We'll just have to see about that."

"Arthur!" Merlin closes his hand over Arthur's to keep him from unfolding Ismeine's letter. It seems doubly important to keep it from now. Not only does he want to spare Arthur, but he knows Arthur will not be pleased that Merlin kept it from him.

Merlin is kneeling, a bony elbow on Arthur's thigh to keep him steady as he reached for the note. He realizes their hands are still clasped when he feels a sudden jolt and Arthur tugs his hand completely free of Merlin's grip. Merlin holds his breath, waiting.

Arthur squints his eyes as he focuses on the script, then huffs his annoyance. "Really, Merlin. All that work to keep me from reading _that_?" Arthur lets go of the note and it falls back to rest on his leg. "I swear, just when I think you can't get any stranger, you prove me wrong."

Merlin is confused as he reaches for the letter. When his eyes scan the first few lines, they widen in surprise. Where once the lady Ismeine penned lines praising the sunlight of Arthur's hair and the sky blue of his eyes there is only a list made out in his own messy scrawl -- the list, in fact, of the herbs he'd gathered for Gaius that morning. While he watches, the letters blur before his eyes, the black rearranging back into the lines about the elegant cut of Arthur's formal coat, the trails they leave as they move glittering a bright blue before it sinks into the paper.

Merlin looks away with a gasp as he hears the voice again in his head: _There is magic of sight and magic of unsight. This magic conceals, shielding what we want hidden, protecting that which we guard._

"Merlin?"

Arthur's voice makes Merlin focus his eyes once again and it's then he notices how close his face is to Arthur's, still propped as he is against Arthur's leg. He can see the fan of pale eyelashes as Arthur blinks, see the light of the fire reflected back at him in Arthur's eyes.

"Yes?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

He feels a scuff of a booted toe against his bent knee. "My boots, maybe?"

Even as he scrambles back in a mess of suddenly uncoordinated limbs, Merlin makes sure to crumble the letter in his hand and stuff it back into his shirt. He's expecting more cutting remarks from Arthur about his general incompetence, but the prince must be more tired than he's letting on because there's nothing, only a hint of amusement as he lets Merlin pull his boots from his feet.

When Merlin passes the fire, he drops the letter into its licking flames, watching in satisfaction as it burns away into ashes, blaming the sudden heat in his face on his close proximity to the hearth.

**

Gaius is pleased by the report that he's uncovered another part of Lunette's lesson and so is Merlin, but a full day passes without another epiphany. The nervous energy building in him as he dwells on his lack of magical power causes him to fly through his duties for the day, including another good polish of Arthur's armor. Instead of being thrilled that everything is completed to his exacting standards, Arthur seems put out when he comes back to a clean-scrubbed chamber and gleaming armor. Merlin considers it a victory, though it doesn't allay his larger concerns.

The next morning, he is determined for more answers. Luckily, the men have taken the field to practice drills with swords and maces, while the visiting ladies have taken to a smaller tract of land to engage in their own sports. Uther generally frowns on women doing such activities, despite Morgana's study of the sword. Still, he says nothing to stop his guests from practicing their own customs, so Lunette, her sister and a few others are all out in the sun, dressed in plain gowns made for sport. Lunette's sister seems to be training a falcon for hunting, while she wears heavy leather gloves and lets arrow after arrow fly into a round, wooden target set up for her use.

When he doesn't speak, she glances his way before focusing on the target once more. "Is there something on your mind, Merlin?"

He finally asks her about the concealment spell on the parchment.

"It's a function of blue magic," she tells him. "It's the same kind of magic that lets me see your spirit."

He thinks of the plant spell calling itself green, and what Lunette speaks of when she reads his aura. "You're quite fond of color analogy, aren't you?"

She laughs. "We all understand our magic in different ways. I don't know how you see yours, but that's how I see mine."

Merlin doesn't see his magic as much as feel it, in the rush of his blood, in the hitch of his breath. Sometimes he might even taste it. He wonders if it's just another thing that separates his nature from other sorcerers'.

"How much longer?" he wants to know.

"You're coming along," she says. "Not long now."

Merlin tries to get more out of her, but it's a waste of time. Admitting defeat, he joins the crowd gathered around Arthur on the training field. As he watches Arthur spar with one of the visiting knights, he's suddenly reminded of Lady Ismeine's flowing verse on the grandeur of the prince's physical form. Despite the ridiculous and flowery language, even Merlin can admit she wasn't far off.

He tries to remind himself to hate Arthur for it the next time he's feeling particularly unappreciated, but all he can summon is a strange ache in his chest when he see the way the light glints off his hair, the way his face is transformed when he laughs.

Merlin suddenly remembers something important that needs his attention far away from the field.

Sometime during the afternoon, Merlin realizes that he's accepted Lunette's lesson. He's no longer trying to reverse it; instead he's trying to complete it. He's not sure why or when his opinion changed, but it has and he's willing to see where it takes him -- a lucky attitude, since he seems to have little other recourse.

Arthur is stiff and slow-moving when he comes to his chambers, obviously overworked from trying to impress the visiting knights. It's not unusual for the prince to be a little stiff, but it's usually passed by the time he's out of his armor. Not tonight, Merlin notices.

"You need salve," he tells the prince. "For your shoulders."

"It's fine," he answers. "Leave it." When he hears the sound of Merlin rummaging through a chest, he adds, "Merlin!"

"Found it," Merlin announces, holding the small glass jar high in victory.

"As big as your ears are, you'd think they worked," Arthur says, obviously cranky. Merlin silently blames it on the ache in his back.

"You'll feel better once I've applied this, sire," he says aloud, waiting for Arthur to take his place on the bed. Through trial and error, they learned the best way to arrange themselves for this treatment, both of them half-sitting on the bed. Merlin tucks one leg beneath him and leans forward, fingers coated with the mint-smelling salve. He starts with light, broad strokes across Arthur's shoulders. Arthur remains tense under his hands, more than just the ache of physical activity.

Merlin shifts his position so he can put more force behind his hands, trying to dig into Arthur's unyielding muscles. The salve tingles on his hands as he works, as he stubbornly tries to soothe the stress away. He's so focused on his task that he doesn't know how long he's been at it when he finally feels Arthur's shoulders sag under his ministrations, like a marionette whose strings have been cut.

With the tension leaking away, Merlin moves his hands lower to finish applying the salve, his fingers literally sparking against Arthur's bare skin. It's a shock but somehow no more so than the feeling of Arthur leaning into his touch, resting against him in sudden relaxation.

Lunette's voice in Merlin's head cuts through the breathless quality of the moment. _This is magic of order and peace. It heals, it binds; it is the force of light that holds the world in balance._

He reluctantly eases away.

"Better?" Merlin asks. His voice shakes and he's not sure why.

"Actually...yes," Arthur says, rolling his shoulders experimentally. "Amazing."

"No need to sound so surprised," Merlin can't help but return.

"If you weren't such a complete waste at most things, I wouldn't be," Arthur tells him. He rolls his shoulders again and Merlin watches, fascinated, at the way the firelight plays across his skin. "Competency is nice, for a change." It's the kind of thing Arthur always says, but it sounds different for some reason. Merlin's not sure why, but he can't breathe.

"Will there be anything else?" Merlin asks. When Arthur shakes his head, he almost falls off the bed in his haste to get away. "Goodnight, sire," he says as he douses the candles, banks the fire, and escapes.

Given that he's cracked another piece of Lunette's puzzle, Merlin hopes that his dreams would be quiet, no more horrors conjured up by his anxiety. When he closes his eyes and falls into his dreams, he finds himself standing on the Isle of the Blessed, in the same spot where he faced Nimueh. But it's not that sorceress who stands before for him -- it's Lunette, waiting under the thunderous sky.

"This is what worried me when I met you." She gestures toward him, and he looks down to see he's surrounded by a roiling black aura that mimics the dark sky above them. "The power of life and death is a dark practice -- if you're not strong enough to resist, it consumes you. It becomes a thirst of destruction."

"It won't," he argues. "I won't. That's not what I'm meant to do."

She raises an eyebrow. "What are you meant to do, then?"

"Protect Camelot." But that's not quite right, not really. "Serve my prince." He's closer, but still not on the mark. She waits. "Protect him," he finally says.

"This darkness, this power, was already in you when we met," she tells him. "The lessons...I wanted to bring you balance. That's all. Something to help you resist." There's a hint of apology in her words, an entreaty for forgiveness.

Merlin forgets to answer, caught in his own realization. "This isn't just a dream, is it?"

Lunette nods. "This was a lesson I wanted to impart myself. I don't want you to fear this. But you need to be aware of what it's done to others. And as long as it's only a piece of you, and not the whole..."

He nods, letting his eyes lock with hers, hoping she can read the sincerity in them. "I understand."

Lunette smiles as she leaves his dreams in a swirl of mist.

**

Merlin wakes just as dawn paints the sky rose-gold, feeling as if he's finally _got it_. Sitting in bed, he immediately tries a spell, tries to summon a boot from across the room. Nothing happens, and the cold emptiness of his missing magic chills his blood in the attempt. With a frustrated growl, Merlin dresses quickly and stomps off in search of Lunette.

She's in a small, half-forgotten courtyard, studying a small book in her hands.

"I still can't use my magic." He crosses his arms and glares down at her.

Lunette doesn't even bother to look up from her book. "There's still one more lesson."

Merlin wonders what could be left after the conversation in his dreams. "You leave tomorrow," he reminds her. "What if I don't figure it out by then?"

She sighs, closes her book. "Then I will stop the lesson before I leave," she promises. "Or I can end it now, you know. I told you, this wasn't supposed to harm you."

Merlin aches to feel his magic once again, but something stops him from agreeing with her offer. "This last lesson, it's important, right?"

"I think so," she says. "Maybe even more important than the others."

"So it's harder then?"

She shrugs. "Or easier. It just depends."

Merlin wants to believe in her, in these lessons. "I know you said you just wanted -- but why did you do this? Try and teach me, I mean?" He shakes his head. "I could've just exposed you or something."

"I've always felt like that was what I was born to do -- to teach magic." Lunette says after a moment. "But it's not something I can really do, not the way things are. Just once, I wanted to try." She looks up from her hands where they clutch the book, focusing her liquid-dark eyes on Merlin. "Your power is extraordinary and it seemed worth the risk, this once. It seemed like my only chance."

More than in magic, he's found the way he and Lunette fit together. He knows what she means, understands the despair she must feel. His own destiny feels so right, but the world feels so wrong for it; he never thought other sorcerers could feel the same without a dragon whispering in their ears. But Lunette burns bright with her own course, one blocked from her as well.

"Things will change," he tells her. "One day, you'll be able to do it, and you'll be great at it, I think."

"Someone, someday, yes." For the first time, her smile is sad. "But I doubt I'll live to see it."

Merlin grabs clumsily for her hand, squeezes it. "Don't give up hope," he says. "You'll see."

She returns the pressure and then drops her hand. "Do you want to stop the lesson, Merlin?"

Merlin pulls away a little. "No, I've still got a day," he tells her. "I want to learn."

"All right," she says. "Good luck."

Merlin thanks her before he rushes away, knowing he'll probably need it.

Throughout the day, Merlin tries to reason out the final lesson, determined to discover its secrets. He thinks about what Lunette has taught him already -- and she has taught him things. He's not sure if he could explain it to anyone else if asked, but he can feel the differences in the way he senses things around him, in the way he can now sort the ebb and flow of energies around him: wild green pulse of things that grow, the blue spark in illusion and lies; the darkness of the decay around him, and the soft white glow that binds everything together. But even in the way his eyes are now open to these things, Merlin knows he's missing an element, and he wants to master the last lesson before it's too late.

The day speeds by and before he realizes it, Merlin is in Arthur's quarters, fulfilling the last of his nightly duties. Arthur is already down to a loose shirt and breeches, but he stops to lean against his bedpost and look at Merlin with a knowing expression he has come to dread.

"I had the most interesting and confusing conversation with Lady Ismeine this evening," Arthur says.

"Oh?" Merlin studiously focuses on collecting stray bits of clothing from around the room.

"Yes, it seemed she was waiting, rather impatiently, for my response to her letter -- a letter, she said was delivered to you."

"I, uh..."

"For once, you're speechless?" Arthur snorts, holds out his hand. "The letter, Merlin."

"I burned it," he confesses after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"You what?" Arthur's eyebrows disappear beneath the fringe of his hair. "Why?"

"Lady Ismeine is a married woman who shouldn't be writing poetry to the prince about how lovely he is," he protests, putting the blame where it belongs -- on the shameless married flirt.

"So you read it _and_ you burned it?"

Merlin wonders if he's made a tactical error in his explanation. "Only a few lines. I swear."

"Merlin, I don't remember putting you in charge of my correspondence." Arthur shakes his head. "I certainly don't remember giving you permission to burn my letters before I've had a chance to read them."

"I'm sorry, sire," Melin tells him, although he isn't. "It'll never happen again, I promise, I --"

Arthur holds up a hand to stem the flow of words. "Merlin, it's all right. For once, I'm grateful for your interference." Merlin breathes a sigh of relief before he notices Arthur's expression is turning mischievous. "So she said I was lovely, did she?"

"More or less," Merlin admits, not wanting to say anymore. He thinks it might've been another reason he kept Ismeine's note from Arthur -- the last thing the prince needs is help inflating his overlarge ego.

"You sure you burned it just to spare me?" Arthur asks in his usual mocking tone. "It sounds like to me you might be a little jealous."

"Me?" Merlin winces at the squeaky way it comes out. "Jealous? Of what?"

"Well, I don't see anyone writing poems about how lovely you are," Arthur reminds him, grinning. "And Lady Ismeine is very nice herself, even if she is married."

Merlin thinks of Ismeine's embarrassing brashness and shakes his head. "I don't need Ismeine's attention, thanks."

Arthur narrows his eyes like he's mulling over something. It's a mood more dangerous than mischief. Merlin's not sure what's brought it on. "I don't suppose you do with the lady Lunette in the party."

"Lunette?" Merlin busies his nervous hands moving objects around on the table in a pale imitation of cleaning. "What about her?"

"Word is that you've been seen with her more than once." Arthur's tone should be teasing, but it isn't. Merlin's not sure what to think of it. "They say you're quite taken with each other."

Merlin's first instinct is to demand the names of these "they," but he resists, too caught up in trying to figure out the unusual strained quality to Arthur's voice. When he looks up to notice Arthur's waiting for an answer, he tries to supply one. "No, I mean, _no_. Lunette -- Lady Lunette -- she was just...she heard I was apprenticing with Gaius, and she's made a study of medicinal herbs herself. She just wanted to impart some, um, wisdom. Yeah."

It's not his best lie-on-the-spot, but it's certainly not his worst; he's even proud of how logical it is. Arthur is still looking at him strangely, though, and Merlin's throat goes dry when he finally meets Arthur's eyes. The prince seems incongruently serious for the conversation at hand.

Merlin clears his throat to break the tension and skirts around Arthur. "I'll ready your bed, sire, it's getting late and you have to see your guests off in the morning."

" _Merlin_."

He's halfway to the bed to turn it down when he feels Arthur's hand on his arm. Merlin almost jumps away from the touch because it goes through him like lightning where the prince's fingers land on his skin.

"Are you sure you weren't jealous?" Arthur's voice is soft and entirely too close. "Even a little?"

If Merlin tells the truth, then the answer to Arthur's question is yes. Arthur takes up so much of him that he can't help but resent every bit he shares with others. Arthur is so much a part of him that Lunette can probably read him in Merlin's aura, as present in the fiber of Merlin's soul as his magic is. He wants to shrug off the entire conversation, but he can't because there is something like longing in Arthur's voice, and the prince waits breathlessly for a response.

The tension makes Merlin afraid to answer, but it gives him the courage to ask his own question. He licks his suddenly-dry lips before he says, "Were you?"

Arthur looks surprised by the question, then angry, then defensive as he spits out, "She kept _looking at you_ ," as if that explains everything. He continues, "And then you were _holding her hand_ this morning! I..."

It comes over Merlin as a warm feeling that starts in the pit of his stomach, and he knows he's grinning like an idiot, but he can't help it. Because Arthur _was_ jealous, and he's looking at Merlin like he never wants to let him out of his sight, which is flattering, if impractical. Merlin doesn't even know how Arthur saw him with Lunette that morning, but he's glad he did if this is the reaction.

Arthur's hand on his arm tightens and he mutters something under his breath that sounds rude and exasperated before he tugs Merlin closer and covers his laughing mouth with his own.

What was warmth a moment before transforms into fire in his blood as Merlin clutches at Arthur, one hand fisting in his loose shirt as he pulls him close and falls into the kiss. As kisses go, it's a little messy and nervous, too soft and too forceful by turns but it's _glorious_ , more so than anything Merlin has done before. Finally they seem to find the right fit and it's even better. Merlin's brain stops thinking anything but _Arthur_ , _more_ , and _yes_.

"Merlin..." Arthur pulls away just far enough to whisper his hoarse words across Merlin's heated skin. "Do you -- I mean -- is this...?"

"Whatever you want, sire," Merlin breathes back, playful, unable to take his eyes off Arthur's flushed face and bruised mouth.

Arthur's hand is cupping his jaw, forcing him to hold his gaze. His eyes are dark and serious, painful in their vulnerability. "Not here, not now. Just...us."

Merlin nods. " _Arthur_ ," he says before he kisses him again. "Arthur."

Arthur smiles, as if he's just realized what this means, and then he's plucking insistently at Merlin's shirt to get it off him, then he's tumbling him down onto the bed Merlin made that morning. Merlin goes willingly, tangling their limbs together until they touch wherever they can, delicious even through the layers of cloth that separate their skin.

Merlin's lost in everything he's experiencing, in the lust curling through him like thick, dark smoke, but not so much that he doesn't miss the way the tiny lights of the room's candles flare higher as Arthur bares more and more flesh, or the sudden physical heat of the room as the fire in the hearth begins to swell until the top of the flame disappears into the chimney.

He just hopes Arthur remains too distracted to notice.

And, later, when his breath has finally slowed and his arousal has been sated, as he lays in the messy bed with Arthur curled against him even in the unusual warmth of the room, he hears a voice, barely a whisper. _"At the center of magic is the heat of our passion. Be it love or anger, it is what beats in our hearts, the force that drives us when nothing else will."_

Merlin smiles as his eyes flash gold and the door's key turns the lock on its own before he closes them, letting Arthur's nearness soothe him into the best sleep he's had since Lunette arrived in Camelot.

**

Although he no longer needs her intervention to return his magic, Merlin makes sure he is there to tell Lunette goodbye. Arthur is there, too, with his father, both of them standing tall and proud in the anemic light of the early dawn as they wish the lord and his knights a cordial farewell. The air is chilly and damp, but Merlin doesn't feel it, not with the memory of the night before to warm him. Lunette must see it in his face because her smile for him is wide and clear.

"I knew you could do it," she tells him. "I had faith."

"Thank you," he tells her. "For all your guidance."

"I thank you," she says. "For giving me a chance to try." Before he can protest that she doesn't owe him her gratitude, she holds out a book, not much bigger than his palm but inches thick. "So you can keep learning," she explains. "Use the note on the first page to keep it safe."

Merlin quickly glances at the words there to see a spell much like the one he cast on Ismeine's letter, one that will hide the true nature of the book from others. "Thank you, again."

Lunette seems to notice that the other ladies are beginning to join the men to start the journey. "I think I figured out what I saw, in your colors. The gold I didn't understand."

Merlin's a little afraid to find out. "What is it?"

"I never believed before, it seemed like such a silly idea," she says. "But I was once told that there was such a thing as soul mates. But I've never met a pair of them before." Her dark eyes wander toward Arthur, and Merlin fights off a blush. "I'm honored to have done so now."

Merlin lets his smile speak for him.

Once the company are beyond the gates of the castle, the king disappears with his advisors but Arthur comes over to where Merlin stands watching until the last member of the party vanishes from his sight. He nudges Merlin with his elbow. "If that cozy little scene was for my benefit, it failed. Just so you know."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Not everything is about you, Arthur."

"I happen to know differently, Merlin." Arthur grins at him, smug and self-satisfied. "You practically admitted last night that your world revolves around me."

"I did not!"

"As it should," he continues. "I am your prince."

"I think you mean prat."

"No, I don't think I did."

It's a good thing, Merlin decides, that no one is around to see them grinning at each other the way they are. They would instantly be declared mad. Merlin crosses his arms and tries to school his expression. "You never told me how you saw me and Lunette holding hands."

Arthur's smile begins to fade. "I just happened to be on the battlements and I looked to see you two. Out of the corner of my eye. For a second."

"So you were spying on me?"

"No," Arthur denies immediately. "I was _surveying_ my royal domain."

Merlin moves a little closer, until their shoulders touch where they stand together. "And includes me?"

Arthur's smile is absurdly fond as he answers. "You more than anyone."

Merlin is seized with the insane desire to do something foolish like kiss Arthur there in the main courtyard, but he doesn't, hoping his eyes can convey what he cannot demonstrate otherwise. He takes in healthy flush of Arthur's skin, the way he tries to conceal the quickness of his breath, the spark of his eyes, and Merlin's magic pours out of him of its own will. For an instant, everything is awash in the golden glow Lunette spoke of, shining out of Arthur as if he were the sun itself. Merlin risks a touch of his fingers against Arthur's and the collision of their spirits nearly blinds him.

"Perhaps maybe it does," Merlin concedes. "Revolve around you. A little."

  
 _The End._

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was (insanely) inspired by Magic the Gathering and its magical system. I loved this game as a kid, and I still think it colors (ha!) my understanding of every magic system I've met since. The title of the fic comes from the quote at the beginning -- The hardest lessons to grasp are the ones you've already learned. -- which is flavor text from the MtG card, Relearn. (For other nerds, it's a blue Sorcery card that lets you recover an Instant or Sorcery from your graveyard.)


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